


Implications

by aeternamente



Category: The Autobiography of Jane Eyre
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeternamente/pseuds/aeternamente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d tried the ring on a few times, and it fit, but at the same time, it didn’t fit at all. It felt foreign, strange. A left hand with an engagement ring on it just didn’t seem like it could be her left hand.</p>
<p>(Now canonballed.)<br/>(Except for the sparkly vampire line.)<br/>(I totally called that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Implications

**Author's Note:**

> This is me trying to sort out my conflicted feelings about ep. 45. The Jane/Rochester dynamic is compelling, but extremely problematic, and a lot of people have articulated this on tumblr with really awesome meta. I guess I’m just trying to articulate it by extrapolating forward a bit.
> 
> ETA: I don't know why it says it was published today (Nov. 30), but I wrote this yesterday (Nov. 29)! ([Evidenced by my original Tumblr post!](http://aeternamente.tumblr.com/post/68510189912/implications-aoje-fanfiction)) Let the record show that I TOTALLY CALLED THE SPARKLY VAMPIRE LINE IN EP. 46!

Jane was supposed to be filming her next video.

She’d set aside this time for it, and stationed herself in her usual seat in front of her desk with the camera running in front of her. She’d long since come to think of it like talking to a friend—a friend who would understand anything she had to say and not judge her for it.

Sometimes you just need a friend to sit with you and share your stunned silence. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make for a very interesting video.

She picked up  _the ring_  from its position on her desk. Not from on her finger. She couldn’t seem to keep it there. She’d tried it on a few times, and it fit, but at the same time, it didn’t fit at all. It felt foreign, strange. A left hand with an engagement ring on it just didn’t seem like it could be  _her_  left hand.

"You’re not wearing it," Rochester remarked from the doorway.

Jane jumped and swiveled in her seat. “I… didn’t see you…” She blushed and looked down. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

"It’s okay, if it bothers you, you don’t have to wear it," he said, advancing toward her. His hand nudged her face upward. "It’s enough that you’re here, and you love me. Will you say it again?"

She smirked. “Say what again?”

His smile mirrored hers. “You know,  _the thing_.” God, she loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

She stood so she could look him directly in the eye. “I love you.”

"Call me by my name."

"What?"

"Call me Edward. Say, ‘Edward, I love you.’"

"Edward—" She made a face.

"You don’t like my name?"

"I don’t know… it makes me think more of sparkly vampires than of you."

"How do you know I’m not a sparkly vampire? It’s pretty cloudy around here, maybe you’ve never seen me in the sunlight. I might sparkle."

"It was sunny the day you kidnapped me for a shopping-trip-slash-day-at-the-beach," she countered. "You don’t sparkle, and I have video evidence to prove it."

“ _Jane_ …”

“ _Edward_ …” She hesitated and lifted a hand to his face, and he immediately covered her hand with his own. “I love you.”

A slow, broad smile spread across his face. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her soundly, lifting her and spinning her around as far as the confines of the room would allow. Jane let out a muffled squeal against his lips, and they broke apart, laughing.

But the thing about kissing Rochester was that there never seemed to be enough of it. The moment they parted, Jane felt a pain cut through her chest, sharp and sweet, and even drawing him back down into another kiss didn’t seem to sate it. She tightened her arms about his neck to pull him in closer, and he eagerly obliged, to the extent that he inched her backward, and backward again…

Until the backs of her calves found the edge of her bed.

She froze.

But her frozen posture threw off her balance, and she tumbled backward onto the bed, pulling him with her. She felt the breath knocked out of her by the impact, by the weight of Rochester on top of her, by implications of what had just happened, but before she could find air again, much less a coherent thought, his mouth was covering hers, hungry, and more impassioned and insistent than she had yet experienced with him… or with  _anyone_. He began trailing kisses down her neck.

"Wait…" she gasped feebly.

The kisses traveled lower. Her blouse was too low-cut, and she felt every inch of exposed skin, bare and burning.

"I don’t—I didn’t—"

His hands found the hem of her blouse and slipped underneath, and his fingertips felt like fire against the skin of her waist.

"Roch— _Edward, please_ —” She gathered her strength and pushed him forcibly away.

As she righted herself on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths to regain her equilibrium, all she could think of was how his name still felt foreign on her tongue. It was some time before she could raise her eyes to him, sitting a few feet away, breathing just as heavily as she was.

"I’m sorry, I can’t—"

"No,  _I’m_  sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, which was bare since the neckline of her blouse had shifted. The contact startled her and she recoiled. He sighed and dropped his head. “I should go.”

Jane felt somehow guilty, but couldn’t argue. She needed to be alone, so she nodded.

He left. She righted her blouse and tried to remember what she’d been doing before…  _all of this_  had happened. The answer came to her in a sickening rush—she’d been filming.

_It was all on camera._

She strode across the room to turn it off, as if that would change anything. She could delete it, of course, but somehow, just the fact that it had been filmed at all made her feel dirty and exposed. She crossed the room to her closet and grabbed the nearest frumpy sweater—the one with the geese—and tugged it on over her head, then sat down on her desk chair, folding her legs up against her chest and hugging them close.

She needed to figure out a way to make sure  _that_  didn’t happen again—at least not until she was ready.


End file.
